


She destroys with her sweet kiss

by whyevenbothertbh



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Introspection, Jaskier secretly in love with Geralt, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Retrospective, Songfic, Unrequited Love, get ready for the sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyevenbothertbh/pseuds/whyevenbothertbh
Summary: What if the song Her Sweet Kiss isn't just about Yennefer? Jaskier knows he can't say it out loud, but he doesn't see Geralt as just his (not) friend. And he sees Yennefer as his greatest enemy.Her sweet kiss was the inspiration, some scenes are series-based, some are made up.I started this fic not actually shipping Geralt with Jaskier, but in the process of analysing the song and some of the scenes I might have convinced myself Jaskier is actually feeling something towards the Witcher.Disclaimer: this ff is purely TV-series based, I have not read the books.Please give me a heads up if you notice any mistakes, grammar or typos - English isn't my first language
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 231





	She destroys with her sweet kiss

_The fairer sex, they often call it_

_But her love’s as unfair as a crook_

Can’t you see that, Geralt?

I get it, you need to unload the… emotional baggage - I get it, I really do. You’re not exactly living the easiest life, and _family_ is not a word you’re accustomed to. Can’t blame you for seeking substitutes. Who doesn’t?

But her… Why would you choose her of all the busty, pretty ladies in the wide world? Half of them would throw themselves at you just to taste the White Wolf’s cock. Quite a renown I’ve won you, haven’t I? So why in good heavens would you decide the crazy, selfish witch is worth all that dedication? All the thoughts, distraction, sleepless nights?

Oh, yes, I’ve seen you, foolish whelp, staring for hours into the starry sky as if you could see into it for answers. As if it could grant you more wishes so you could waste them all on her.

  
  


_It steals all my reason_

_Commits every treason_

_Of logic, with naught but a look_

That’s you and me both, really. We’re hopeless half-wits. We’re not going to get what we want and we’re too far gone to look back. I can’t read your mind, Witcher, but if your feelings are anything alike mine – I’m afraid neither a harsh talk from a friend nor a hand burned by the very heart we’re reaching to isn’t going to save us from going forward.

Funny how you both have those wicked eyes like no one else does.

Hers are violet like those berries you told me aren’t any good.

_Anything that colour has to be poisonous, Jaskier, let yourself be warned, you fucking moron! You’re going to kill yourself before any monster can do it for you._

Yours – pure, liquid gold.

I swear when I’m coming back to camp after taking a piss and the fire’s down to not invite any village bandits I don’t need a torch, ‘cause your eyes give enough of a glow to shine the way.

_A storm breaking on the horizon_

_Of longing and heartache and lust_

You’re fine when you’re without her for longer. Even smirking sometimes and you don’t smirk for no reason. The further away from her we travel, the happier you get. Your mind’s clearer, your step lighter. You wouldn’t say that, would never admit that. Hell, I don’t think you can see it, but whenever we get closer to the witch, it’s like your armour weights more and more, your eyes get wary, you look like a deer that’s sensing it’s in ambush.

Yet you yearn, long, crave her and I can see that, too, I’m not blind.

People pay me for spotting human emotion and it turns out witchers aren’t that different from us after all.

I realised I haven’t gotten away from you in years. We do split up, sometimes, for few weeks or months, when you snap and tell me to go and never come back. When I notice you’re getting too tired of me. When I see your eyes lit up because she’s close and you can’t wait to get rid of _me_ so you can put your hungry hands on _her_.

But people don’t know me as _me_ now. Not just Jaskier, the bard. Not even Jaskier the daughter-tainting bastard. I’m Jaskier, the Witcher’s bard now. Wherever I go I sing of you, because people don’t want to hear anything else. And I’m not sure I can write anything that’s not about you anymore. So it’s either the White Wolf’s stories or good old _Katia the baker’s sweet girl_.

_She’s always bad news_

_It’s always lose, lose_

_So tell me love, tell me love_

_How is that just?_

You told me everything goes to shit when I’m with you. And I can’t really deny this, can I? But have you thought, _my dearest friend_ , that maybe it’s because I’m the only one that’s always with you?

You cannot even notice what misery _she_ brings you, can you? People don’t trust the mad witch’s lover, likely equally mad. You’ve lost jobs. You will turn down any opportunity if she only says a word. You will jump to do the riskiest tasks for your erratic lady and what have you gotten in return?

Few quick moments of ecstasy? As if you couldn’t get that anywhere else.

The thrill of fucking a capricious deadly creature? It would probably be safer for you to fuck a kikimora.

Couple words of affection? Have you even gotten that, Geralt?

Yet you won’t even let me call you my _friend_.

_But the story is this_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss_

_But the story is this  
_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss_

I remember singing it for the first time, when we were nearing Mahakam mountains. I didn’t even think about writing a song then, those were just the words that got out of my mouth unknowingly. Tall, dark mountains veiled in mist have their way of making me melancholic, I guess. So, I forgot myself and just sang what came into my absent mind.

I remember how you strode at me, one or two second and you’ve crossed the camp and before I know it you're dragging me up and throwing me at the nearest tree. Then you caught me again before I fell to the ground, because, really, Geralt, I don’t think you always remember that people are very fragile, and you pushed me against that tree and put your gutting knife, still glistening with fresh hare blood, on my throat. Your eyes, too, almost red with anger, breath so rapid I would be worried about _you_ if I wasn’t so preoccupied with wondering if you’re actually going to kill _me_.

First time I was ever scared of you, like I see many people are when they notice your hair or your necklace.

You calmed down and your eyes were back to that dreamy, sunny golden hue. All you did was whisper

_Don’t, Jaskier. Not you._

And then you eased your grip and, of course, I fell straight to the ground. Haven’t even noticed you were holding me one foot in the air. I don’t think I’ve taken a single breath through all that.

You thought I was singing about _her_ destroying _you_. And frankly, that would be true. She’s no good for you and you can realise that too, or you wouldn’t have presumed that’s what I meant.

But you see, Geralt, I’m glad you couldn’t have guessed what I was really singing about was _her_ taking you away. The gutting knife would perhaps tear into one more body that night.

Not the worst of deaths, certainly, but who would be there to write the ballad?

_Her current is pulling you closer  
_

_And charging the hot, humid night_

You can’t help it. If you hear in a tavern a word about her being close, hell or high water, there’s no stopping you. You can’t sleep, waiting for a signal from her, summoning you. She has bewitched you, enchanted, beseeched.

And I can’t sleep, too, when the air is so heavy with anticipation. I know you see far better than I do, so I wait for your eyes to close and then wait some more before I look at you, laying on the other side of the fire, not quite as close to it as I am, your body better suited for the harsh weather. I see how your silver hair falls lightly on your cheek and you’re not awake so you can’t shake it off with a grunt. Your eyes closed so there’s none of that wariness and caution that’s in them your every waking moment. Your muscles relax and shoulders fall a little bit, moving with every breath, slowly but steadily. You wrinkle your nose, probably smelling something I can’t detect even though I’m awake, so very awake. And I have to turn away, turn my back to the fire or I would never stop and I’m not entirely convinced witchers can’t sense someone is staring at them in their sleep.

_  
The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool  
  
Better stay out of sight_

I stopped counting how many times you’ve saved my life because anyway I can’t ever repay that debt. You’re the hero, I’m just… moral support. What I _can_ do, though, is wake up early and cook some eggs for you. Won’t ever forget the first time you woke up to me rummaging through the bags.

_What in the holy fuck are you doing, Jaskier?_

I honestly don’t know what I imagined thinking I wouldn’t wake you. You started getting up but I stopped you

_Breakfast. Shhh, stay. Stay, big boy. Mommy is taking care of it._

_Mommy_ earned me a low grunt and a comment I couldn’t quite hear over the clanging of pans and spoons but you gave up on getting up, only grimaced at my sorry attempts at lighting the fire. Letting me messily prepare what was supposed to be fried eggs but could maybe, just maybe be called scrambled when I finished with them.

You didn’t say _thank you_ , obviously, but you looked at me funny when I was handing you the bowl.

And those sweet, sweet eyes were all that I needed to see to know I cannot leave.

Next morning when I got up to do the same, the fire was already lit and you pretended to be asleep until I shook your arm.

_Breakfast ready, big boy!_

_  
I’m weak my love, and I am wanting  
  
If this is the path I must trudge  
  
I welcome my sentence  
  
Give to you my penance  
  
  
_

If I was any smarter I would have left when I noticed what was happening, before it was too late. Great stories aren’t created by smart people, though. Smart people choose wide roads, steady rides and warm homes.

And isn’t it uncanny how similar we are despite all that’s unlike about us?

Even though Destiny isn’t holding us together like it holds you with _her_ , I fear I’ve involuntarily bound my life to you with an equally permanent knot.

Me and you both, we aren’t getting what we want and I’ve quite dealt with that. Best I can hope for is for you to allow this to continue the way we are. The White Wolf and his bard.

You, sweetheart, fighting the monsters, me, fighting myself.

_Garroter, jury and judge_

The moment I was so desperate I decided to risk it all. I saw how you looked at her in that tavern, on the way to the dragon's lair. Like you’re never going to let her go. Like you don’t see anything but her anymore. With her every look and every kiss you come closer to the brink of abyss that will swallow you whole.  
  


So later that night, at camp I dared to sing the entire ballad, my voice trembling with fear when I got to the last verse.

Did you hear me in her tent? I would believe so, with your witcher senses helping you and the night as quiet as it could possibly be on that wicked path. But you didn’t say anything, that night or the next morning.

Is it possible that you heard yet never realised who the _garroter_ was? It couldn’t possibly be _her_.

Who was the one to almost kill me with their rash wish?

I remember the fear in your eyes when the elven healer said I could die. Never seen you afraid before.

Now you’re fearing her leaving you anytime she’s out of your sight.

Next day, after Borch fell into what we thought was certain death I even asked you

_What if we turn back tomorrow morning? Travel to the shore?_

Could I have been more obvious? We both looked into the horizon, you not caring enough, while I was too afraid if you looked into my eyes I wouldn’t be able to hide the silent plea. Only _she_ was holding you there and for _her_ you stayed. And so I stayed, too.

Sometimes I catch myself wishing I’d died from the djinn’s spell. The last thing in my memory would be your golden eyes filled with concern about _my_ safety. And I wouldn’t have to watch you walk away.

Other days I’m glad I can sing one more song for you.

_But the story is this_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss_

_Her sweet kiss_

_But the story is this  
_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss  
_

_But the story is this  
_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss_


End file.
